


ilustrado.

by JAEMREN_ch1ld



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 1800s, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Donghyuck is Filipino, F/M, Ilustrado, M/M, Mark is European, Orphan - Freeform, Philippine history, based on ph history, donghyuck - Freeform, haechan - Freeform, hyuck is a barter, i was bored and i thought of this, mahae, mark is an ilustrado, mark lee - Freeform, markhyuck, not really open ending i just feel like its an open ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:13:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25309540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAEMREN_ch1ld/pseuds/JAEMREN_ch1ld
Summary: Back then, when cars didn't exist and technologies didn't define the wellness of a city, an ilustrado from Europe decided to migrate in the country of the Filipinos where he met the independent yet lonely orphan who aspires to be a hero.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	ilustrado.

**Author's Note:**

> hello hehehe 
> 
> after a month i finally finish a short story about markhyuck hajgjdhjs
> 
> i want to write something about a love story ( not really ) based in ph history and since i'm a filipino.
> 
> i really enjoyed writing this and if i get a good feed back with this one, i'll write a part two
> 
> please enjoy this for now hoho

  
  


“Ama, ang katapangan ba ng isang mamayan ang siyang makatutulong sa pagkamit ng ating kalayaan?” 

( Father, can the courage of a citizen help us achieve our freedom?)

With clothes that don’t match and feet that bear the heat of the soil, the young man who seeks for nothing but greatness and freedom asks his adoptive father with the question no one had ever answered before. The silent hum that came out from his father’s mouth signifies that it was another day of no answers gathered.

He asks every day, from morning till bedtime, he asks for the same question, wanting to hear a new answer and a new surge of energy coming out from his father’s mouth. He once believed that his father was mute and couldn’t answer anything but now that he hears his father hum, he knows his father hears him every time.

Chan, a name once never thought to be given. A name that came out from the mouth of an old farmer that resides along with the rough soil and rocky surface. Chan, a name given to him when he was a child, with his big fluffy tummy and rejoiceful giggle. The produced name with different spellings came from the word  _ Tiyan _ that means stomach. 

He steps out of their small cottage, with his feet dirty so as his fingertips, he lurks around the wide neighborhood, greeting each one of them with his bright eye smile and perky attitude. Chan visits the end of the other of the mount, right beside the seashore of Ilocos. The teenager with big dreams sets his feet down on the cold yet refreshing water. The sun welcomes his skin as if it belongs to him, the sunrays make him shine and a little bit dazzling as he kicks the water that collides with his legs.

He wonders, his father has never said anything to him rather than small nods and pointy fingers, it was the first time for him to hear his father’s hum. A new answer might be? New delicate foundings? He is not sure but at some point in his life, he hopes for his father to answer his question. He wants to be a hero that fights for the freedom of his country, for the freedom of Ilocos and for the freedom to make everything right because he believes in his father, who was once a fighter and a great supporter of the Katipuneros.

Chan knows how to meddle with the business of others, with the sight he sees, a boy might’ve been younger or maybe older is untying his leather shoes. The boy is obviously struggling, the knots were tied tightly and the boy just keeps pulling on the wrong knots, creating an even tighter one. Chan huffs and relieves himself from the embrace of the sea and rushes towards the boy.

As he comes closer, he can see that the boy was wearing something fancy but not elegant, just enough for it to be classified as clothes from the city. Chan calls him, “Mali ang iyong pagtatanggal, ginoo. ( You’re untying in wrongly, Sir).” The boy notices him, a slight confusion on his face. 

Chan sits down, his tattered pants meeting the sand. He grabs the ankle of the young boy, also grabbing the hem of the soft socks the boy is wearing. It has a huge difference with his exposed ankles. “Kung nais mo na tanggaling ang buhol ng iyong sapatos, sundin mo ang lusot ng bawat tali nito.(If you want to remove the laces of your shoes, follow the laces.)” Chan says. 

“I don’t understand you,” The boy says, confusion still on his face as he tilts it on the opposite side from where he’s facing Chan. Chan huffs and removes the laces of the young boy’s shoe. 

“Pardon, Sir.” Chan replies with his rough Filipino accent. He always has been able to speak fluently with the languages taught in the country, Tagalog, Spanish, and English. “ Are you going for a swim?” He asks, finally untying the last shoelace. 

“I love the sea but I’m not allowed to step in it.” The young boy says. 

“The sea is lovely, Sir.”

“Please just call me Mark.” The boy interrupts.

“Then Mark, the sea is lovely. You will certainly fall for it.” He convinces, his eyes soon following the waves of the sea. His feet move on their own and drag his body towards the cold water. “Come, Mark. The sea will welcome you.” He invites with his hands.

The boy named Mark removes his soft linen socks. He folds his pants up to his knees and rushes towards the boy with the same enthusiastic laugh. “Oh God! This is amazing!” He screams, dipping his now wet pants to the sea further. He engulfeds himself with the right amount of water that reaches up to his waist. 

“I told you so,” Chan says, seemingly satisfied with the new friend he had just made. Chan watches him play with the water, the sudden feeling of being light and worry free comes to his senses. He pushes his way forward to reach the young boy’s spot.

He splashes water to Mark with a smile on his face. He stands beside him, slowly dancing his fingers along the coldness of the water. He hums to the now quiet Mark who observes the passing small boats right in front of their eyes. “My father hates the sea,” Mark starts, his voice is calm like the sea. “He once drowned in the lake and no one was there to help him..” He continues, it is still the same as the sea but this time it was blue and lonely. 

“What does it have to do with you?” Chan asks, splashing small bits of water towards Mark’s side. He’s trying to ease the talk with small touches of water on their arms. 

“It became a habit,” Mark responds, smiling at him weakly.

Chans nods his head, understanding the words deeply. A foreigner stands beside him while watching the sun slowly set and their arms touching each other. No one is talking, just them breathing and sometimes their eyes falter to each other and would laugh it off.

In no time, the sun is completely down. The sea is dark blue and the night is coming to an end. Mark wishes to stay at least, still wants to kill some time and enjoy the prosperous night in Ilocos. It’s his final day for vacation anyways.

“I’m going first, dinner is supposed to start in an hour.” Chan announces. His tattered pants now dry. “Should I tie your shoes?” Chan asks. 

“That would be lovely,” Mark says back. 

Chan picks Mark neglected shoes and runs back to Mark. He picked Mark’s soft socks along the way. “Keep it,” Mark says when Chan was trying to clothe him with the socks. 

“This is expensive. I’m not worthy.” Chan denies, shoving the socks to Mark.

“I have plenty of them, consider it as my gift for accompanying me today.” Mark says. “Just tie my shoelaces for me.”

Chan agrees, kneeling down and letting Mark wear his shoes. Once the shoes touch Mark’s feet, Chan hastily ties it, the same tight lace as it was before. “Done.” Chan says.

“I’m gonna head back now, my father needs me already. Enjoy the sea!” Chan bids his farewell.

Mark is left with the underlying thought of being alone once again. The voice from the boy he met a few hours ago still lingering inside his mind. His humble laugh and outgoing personality made Mark feel a lot less lonely than what he feels back in the city. 

“I didn’t get to ask his name, “ 

-

“Hindi ko mawari kung bakit kailangan mo pang umalis at magpuntang Maynila. Hindi mo na ba gusto rito, hijo? ( I don’t understand why you want to leave and go to Maynila. Do you not like it here anymore, son?” Farewells have been one of the hardest things to do in life. It may have different meanings like a farewell because of death, a farewell because of migration or a farewell that requires a good amount of suspicion from his neighbors.

He’s going to the city, Manila. The place where dreams and hopes come true if you’re rich and powerful. Chan hopes to change it. He hopes for all people, poor or rich, to be able to attend a school and learn the languages that have been forcefully become a language to signify the wealth and status of many Filipinoes. He wishes to learn so he can add another bridge of knowledge to everyone so no social status can judge their knowledge.

He wants to be someone who can work under the dim lights of the people who are hoping for a better country. A country that is free of rights and liberty.

“Pangako, bibisita ako palagi. ( Promise, I will frequently visit.)” Chans says to them. His neighbors slowly retract themselves and make way for him. “Kayo na ang bahala kay Ama, (I’ll leave father to your care.)” He asks.

He steps out of their house, looking at it one last time, it might be a real farewell this time. He turns around and makes his way to the boats travelling to Manila. 

He jugs around the grass, feeling the last bits of it because the city is filled with concrete cements and polluted air due to factories. He’s ready to meet new people but not so much with the city beings, they’re known for being busy and government compliant and he doesn’t any of that

The port is near. As he is reaching the port, he’s reminded by the times he used to play with the water. Seven years after, the once quiet and calm sea has boats parked around it. The economy is slowly evolving, the provinces start to welcome different trades from the city. For chan the trading economy is beautiful. You exchange something to other people, sometimes even gaining a good portion of money.

He reaches the boat and greets the guy he’s riding with and sets his bags beside him. He looks at the sky, it’s brimming bright. He can’t wait to see the city. The boat is shaky, it’s a small boat powered by four hands paddling towards the neverending sea. He’s prepared to be on a long trip, packed homemade biscuits bakes by their local bakery owner and some water to quench his thirst. He prepared more than enough, he plans to share it with the five people inside the boat with him.

Not too long after, the boat starts to sail. The wind slaps on his cheeks nicely, the breeze carefully makes Chan’s hair dance. He looks at the mountains they’re passing by, some are green but most of them are black, made with stones from the earthquakes. It’s a masterpiece for Chan, if his hands are able to paint and picture the scenery with his mind and eyes, it will have been such a wonderful memory.

The afternoon came rather fast and his body felt humid from the direct sun. Chan’s stomach starts to rumble with hunger, he fishes out the bread he prepared for himself and digs in. He hears the cries of the child that rides with them, pleading her mother to give her something go eat. Chan suppresses the need to talk and just fishes another bread from his bag. He hands it to the little girl who happily takes it and munches it with delight.

Afternoons are hot, it’s the middle of the day. The trip to Manila will take two days and the future there is still unknown but Chan is willing to risk it, to save his province, to save his country and to find him.

“Hijo, ano ba ang iyong gustong makamit sa Maynila? Hindi ‘bat puno ng gulo sa siyudad? (Son, what do you want to achieve in Manila? Isn’t that place filled with chaos?)” One of the paddlers asks. Chans turns his head to them and gives them a small smile. Chan thinks to himself, the question is unavoidable. The grand city is nothing but chaos and mess, sunrise to sunset, the city is filled with blood. 

“Kahit ganun pa man, maganda ang siyudad. Lahat ng mga Pilipinong mag-aaral ay doon nagsisimula. Marami ring guro na maaaring maglahad ng katotohanan. (Even so, the city is beautiful. All of the Filipinoes who study start there. There are also plenty of teachers that can state the truth.)” Chan says. 

The province is a place to nurture them with the ability to farm and harvest, Chan learned a lot while growing up. His tanned skin is the solid proof. He wants to venture more outside the place he has grown accustomed to. The city is huge, there’s a lot of places there that can make money.

The paddlers nod their heads and continue paddling.

—

“Pagpalain nawa ang iyong paglalakbay, (May god bless your trip,)” The paddlers says as Chan hops off the boat. He thanks them. 

Chan marches off towards the outside of the port, dragging his bag with his clothes. He bumps into a lot of people that screams random languages paired with curses. The city as expected is busy, screams of people who don’t have any money to pay their taxes fills the whole port. Chan observes them, his eyes skillfully jumping from one person to another.

Chan runs towards the gate when he hears that it will be filled with the arrival of the freshly caught fishes. He only sees the gate slowly piling up with people. He’s so occupied with the thought of being able to pass by the gates, and unknowingly bumps to someone.

“Pasensya na, ho..”

“I’m sorry..”

Chan’s attention is still on the closing gate, he grabs his bag tightly and walks past ahead of the guy he bumps into. The loud voices of the people walking with him makes him forget of the familiar voice. With an expecting heart and willful minds, he exits the gate of the port and runs to the busy streets of Manila.

His eyes wanders, smoke seems to circulate around the area with people buzzling their way to different trades. Fruit stands filled the sidewalks and tiny eateries succumbed to the whole attention of hungry travelers. 

Chan strides, there is no possible way for him to arrive early for a job offered to him a month ago, but to walk fast. He pays no attention to the shouts of entrepreneurs inviting him to eat at their stalls. Chan hugs his bag tightly, stealers are quite popular in the city and all of his important clothes and books are inside. The books are certainly not cheap, if someone is to steal it, he can create a hundreds out of it.

He hears a person waving their hands to him, he waves back. “Isagani!” Chan shouts. 

When he lands his feet on the courier, Isagani specifically rents for him, all of his soreness from the two day trip he had came out of his mouth. He groans as he stretches his limbs. “Noong sumulat ka sakin na ika’y magtatrabaho sa Maynila, ako ay nabahala, Chan. (When you wrote to me that you will work in Manila, I was concerned.)” Isagani says, his tone seeks explanations.

“Noong namatay si Rizal at nawala ng parang bula si Andres, magulo na ang siyudad. (When Rizal died and Andres suddenly disappeared, the city is in chaos.)” Isagani adds.

“Naniniwala pa rin ako na makakamit natin ang kalayaan, Isagani. (I still believe that we can achieve our freedom, Isagani.)” Chan says.

“Buwan na ang lumipas at wala pa ring nakakaalam kung ano ang nangyari kay Andres. ( Months has passed and no one knows what happened to Andres.) “ Isagani says.

Chan only nods his head. The memories of the brave heroes who fought for the freedom of their country lingers inside his mind. They may have fought with their writings and their swords, they left a huge part of how the Filipinoes are shedding light to their own freedom.

The ride is cut short due to the loud barricades of people crossing the streets. “Ano ang nangyayari? ( What’s happening?)” Chan asks. 

“Makikita mo ito araw-araw, (You’ll see this everyday)” Isagani shrugs, waiting for the swarm of people to lessen so they can cross with no difficulties.

The bricked walls that hung the clothes of the laundries of the young Filipina women decorates the colorless walls. There’s a young man who seems to be drinking a lot of rum, saying the praises of the Lord with his drunken voice. He showers the people with his saliva as he speaks the verses of the bible. There’s also a young woman who looks beautiful with her white dress, men following her around with flowers in their hands. She gracefully walks as the men trail behind her. Lastly, there’s a young couple carrying their baby, a solemn look on them. The young man carefully guides his wife towards the other end of the street with his arms on her waist and the other one holds the basket filled with vegetables.

Chan saw them when he waited for the swarm of people to lessen. 

“Saan tayo patungo? ( Where are we going?)” Chans asks when they pass the intersection. 

“Sa tahanan ng isang ilustrado, kailangan natin maihatid ang bigas at gulay na kanyang inutos sa aking ama. (The house of an Ilustrado, we need to deliver the rice grains and vegetables he ordered to my father.” Isagani says.

Chan nods. 

-

“Dumating na ba si Ginoong Mark? (Has Sir Mark arrived?)” Isagani asks.

They’re in front of a house, not too big but not too small either. The door is decorated with small dried flowers. A maid welcomes them, she’s young, possibly near his age. 

“Nasa kanyang silid, ( In his room, )” 

Isagani turns around and signals Chan to follow him. Chan complies and simply smiles at the maid who blushes. Chan is in awe, the interior of the house speaks Europe. From the couches to the vases, everything speaks about Europe. The outside may look a bit plain but once he steps inside, the dazzling brown color of the wooden walls matches the overall homey feeling. 

Chan drops his bags and sits on the wooden chair, not certain with what kind of action he should make. While sitting, he tries to remove the slowly budding boredom in him by reading the daily newspaper that is neatly tucked in the shelves beside him. Everything is written in Spanish and by reading the first sentence, Chan scoffs. The newspaper shows the greatness of the Parish and its undying willingness to serve God. Chan is never raised to believe so much in the words of the priests in their country as it’s being controlled by the colonizers. The mightier their words are, the more he fails to believe any of them. For Chan, Catholicism is great and how they devote themselves to the Lord is really outstanding but Chan just really hates the people who take advantage of their beliefs. 

Chan loathes the people who have hunger for pedophilia. The people who pose themselves as holy and as if martyrs for Christ but rape and kill young people who haven’t even reach the age of puberty yet, disgusts Chan. Though there’s a lot of fallacious priests, he still believes that there are priests who are willing to fight for their freedom as well. 

He heard stories, astonishing ones. His neighbors would often talk about the greatness of the people living in the city, how the Filipino priests fought with their great heroes. The feeling of fulfillment still lingers inside him, he still believes. 

The door slams open with Isagani and the foreigner, Isagani talked about earlier, exchanging teasing remarks. They’re both speaking in English but it’s fast, the two of them speak as if a horse is chasing them. Chan clears his throat making the two of them pause and look at him. 

Chan glares at Isagani before landing his eyes on the man who seems familiar. A sudden rise of tension with their brows raised in sync, Isagani stares at the both of them, mouth open and hand scratching his nape.

“Kilala niyo ba ang isa’t-isa? (Do you know each other?)” Isagani asks. 

“Naiintindihan ko ang lenggwahe ng mga dayuhan, Isagani. (I understand the language of foreigners, Isagani.)” Chan says.

“Can you leave us first?” Mark asks. 

Isagani nods his head and leaves the both of them, marching to the kitchen. 

“Mark? Shoelaces?” Chan asks, hope in his voice.

The memories from seven years ago repeats like a broken mantra inside his head. He stares at the feet of the guy he once helped to remove the shoes off. Three years seems like a decade with how his pearl skin became the same color as his. His hair becomes longer and his jaw is more prominent than it looked before.

“Yes,” Mark says.

Chan covers his mouth. The voice he heard from seven years back is entirely different with the voice his ears are hearing. But the tiny spark of contentment made the ache of missing the day they spent together disappear. There’s a speck of blush on his cheeks as he stares longer at the guy who doesn’t know how to untie his shoelaces. The former young boy who wears shorts and socks that speaks his wealth matched with an accent Chan almost failed to comprehend is now facing a man with a tone body and a deep voice. 

“Why are you here in the city?” Mark asks, closing his eyes to lessen the overwhelming misery he suppressed.

“I heard a lot of Filipino Aristocrats are interested in the arts, I carve and I’m planning to sell some of my works.” 

“Spanish-Filipino, you mean?” Mark clarifies.

“Literally, yes.”

“Aren’t you an ilustrado, why do you have to work and not study?” Mark asks.

Chan sighs, it’s a question often asked to him. How can an orphan from Ilocos, know how to speak the language of the rich people? The types of stare Chan receives are not subtle, the glances he got from the rich people in their province is enough to make it clear. 

“I’m not like you,” Chan speaks. He isn’t born with a silver spoon, he doesn’t either know who his real parents are. He grew up with the same thought as why he knew the prohibited language for the poor. Chan lurks his eyes around, the same uncomfortable feeling he gets when people ask him why he’s intelligent.

“You are fluent in English and that’s quite an eye catcher if I may say.” Mark compliments.

“My father’s land owner back in Ilocos is from Europe, she taught me how to speak the language and same with Spanish but I’m not an ilustrado, I’m too poor for that.” Chan smiles at him.

“But you are deserving to be one,” 

“I often hear that, thank you.” 

The wind coming from the open window blows their hair into one way. Chan who’s trying his hardest to maintain his usual, carefree dynamics almost breaks when Mark laughs from what he said. Mark’s smile embarks significant meaning inside Chan’s mind. 

“It’s nice seeing you once again,” Mark tries to hide his gleaming grin. 

“I could say the same, Mark.” 

It’s comfortable, the environment, the emotions, and the feeling of being able to speak with the person Chan once believed he will not see anymore and would just remain as a childhood memory. The ecstatic resemblance of the impression he had with Mark is too nostalgic, his hair and his eyes still maintained its innocence.

Chan’s decision in coming to Manila has never felt so right.

-

Chan wakes up with the loud noises of the people clamoring for attention. Isagani gave him a place to stay last night and Isagani warned him that it can be really noisy in the mornings starting in 4. He slept well last night and he considers the noises from outside as he morning calls for him to start his day.

He got up and took a quick bath. The last time he took a bath was when he left Ilocos and that’s three days ago, he’s in dire need of a fresh breathing. Chan wears newly sewn clothes by his neighbor, a gift she gave for him to have a good start in the city. It fits nicely, the clothes are simple, enough to say it’s new and enough to say he’s starting a job.

He’s job is also simple, he’s supposed to work as a barter to a European man. Chan considers it as a lucky job, he heard from the people who once lived in the city that being a barter is a job that frequents fortune and attracts potential buyers. He took it when Isagani offered it to him last night.

He left the small cottage. He loves the idea of a breakfast but considering his going to walk his way towards his new foreman’s house, he needs to skip it. He greets Isagani who faithfully walks his children to their mother, a smile on his lips.

“Magandang umaga, Maria (Good morning, Maria.)” Chan takes his hat off as he patted the children’s head. 

“Hindi ka ba muna mag-aagahan? (Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?)” Maria asks. 

“Ako’y mahuhuli sa akin unang araw, tiyaka na lamang. (I’ll be late for my first day, next time.)” Chan says and bids them goodbye. It’s an early morning with horses and making noises with their shoes and the chatter from people he passes by. Aside from feeling nice, he’s feeling light as if he’s been in the city for years already. 

The city has a huge resemblance with his hometown, the houses are mixed with wood, bamboo and cement and there are wide windows to welcome the air. The wide range of different designs of women’s  _ baro’t saya  _ catch his eyes, some have flowers embroidered in their skirts and some women are wearing a  _ traje de mestiza  _ with huge  _ baros.  _ The sight is delicate, women flaunting their abilities to sing and take care of a child in their arms. 

Chan wanders his eyes, he’s late to realize that he has reached the place. He glanced at the paper he’s holding, the same exact number written on the paper and the wooden gate. He enters, passing some maids who are holding some sort of flowers. The house is a mansion, it’s not the usual bungalow or houses with stairs to enter the front door, it’s a mansion with big doors and golden knobs. 

Chan knocks. He heaves a deep breath, calming his chest while looking sideways, trying to see if there are possible humans lurking around the area. No one’s there to help him.

The door opens with an old man smiling at him. “Ikaw ba si Chan? Ang kaibigan ni Isagani? ( Are you Chan? The friend of Isagani?)” 

Chan nods his head. The old man let him enter the premises. Once he steps inside, his mouth drops and his eyes wide, it’s the first he has seen a house so huge. He even predicts that the furnitures inside the house cost higher than his life. 

“Isinulat ka samin ni Isagani kagabi, hinihintay ka ng iyong amo sa itaas. (Isagani wrote about you last night, your foreman is waiting upstairs.)” The old man says, pointing at the stairs. 

Chan nods his head and the old man let him be. He musters up the courage to go upstairs and meet his foreman. Isagani said that the man is nice because if he wasn’t, Chan would not be even inside his home. He follows the hallways, marching towards the first room he sees with the name of his foreman. 

He knocks three times, politely. 

He set foot inside. “Mr. Lane?” 

“Yes, yes. Isagani has told us about you.”

-

A few weeks after he started his job, everything went smoothly. His traders increased, ranging from Filipinoes to Spaniards. His ability to speak their language has been his weapon to gather his customers. He managed to woo a lot of rich Spanish people who don’t know how to spend their money and their golds. Some soldiers even asked him about what his future materials and goods he could trade with them.

His job is working well. He’s thankful for the opportunity, he gets loads of money and sometimes even gold, he feeds himself well enough and he pays his taxes on time too. But it’s not always bright days and sunshines, he faces a lot of trouble too. Including the people who would mock his face for not looking like a Filipino.

He knows he isn’t Filipino, his mother told him when she was still alive. He’s a child of two Korean refugees who died in the hands of the Spaniards. He accepted it years after, he bears in his mind that he is not Filipino but he would fight like one. 

He escapes the tormenting eyes of Filipinoes that want him out of their City because he’s creating more money than them. He’s young but he’s thriving and it causes envy to others. He usually finishes his business before sunset, the thugs come out when the sun is down and only oil lamps are their way to seek light. 

Just like any other day, Chan closes his business twenty minutes before sunset. 

His foreman told him to go to his place and meet his son. He’s excited. He often hears a lot of dreamy stories from the maids inside the kitchen, he often hears them say that the European business man’s son is an ilustrado.

“My son just went out with Isagani, they’ll be arriving soon.” Mr. Lane says. “I heard from Isagani that you want to be an Ilustrado?”

“Yes, sir.” Chan says. He always wants to be one, a person learning different cultures and learning languages more than three. Only boys are allowed to be an Ilustrado and one of the components of being one is having the money to help himself pay for the expenses.

“They’re here.” 

Chan followed the man with his eyes. He hears the loud welcome of Mr.Lane to his son and an embrace paired with it. He can’t see the man properly, the wall is blocking his face. But he can sense that the man is somehow familiar from afar.

“Chan? This is my son, Mark.” 

Chan laughs. “I know him, Sir.” 

“I’ll leave you two then.”

-

Chan’s frequent inside in the manor of Mr. Lane never did he once see a painting of his son nor did he even expect it to be Mark. Mr. Lane has a lot of paintings of his family but he failed to recognize Mark. Mark resembles Mr. Lane so much, like a younger version of his foreman. Mark also acts like his father, a mixture of dominance and kindness which Chan appreciates.

There’s a large garden at the back of the manor and Chan realized that the flowers he once saw when he first entered the manor was from the garden. It’s rare to see gardens in crowded places like Manila since it’s always filled with smoke and tobacco. The air in the garden is clean, something Chan misses from home. The flowers bloom even in the middle of the summer when heat is at its peak. Chan loves the blooming flowers, a resemblance he also sees in Mark, who’s standing before him.

They stand side by side, calmly feeling the almost cool wind that makes the flowers sway. No one’s talking just them silently breathing to each other’s presence. The chaos outside of the manor is hidden by the sounds of pigeons flying above them.

“We meet again..” Mark says, looking at him. 

“Fate?” Chan laughs.

“It might be, yes..” Mark says, a tint of blush of budding on his rosy cheeks. Chan looks at him, a familiar feeling from seven years ago came back like a swirl as he locks his eyes with Mark’s orbs. “I never heard of your name.” Mark adds, snatching his eyes away from Chan and looking up to watch the pigeons fly in circles. 

‘It’s Chan.”

“Chan? It sounds like a Chinese name.” Mark says.

“It is but it really means stomach or t-i-y-a-n in Tagalog.” Chan explains. A smile in his lips as he remembers his deceased mother’s own reason why she named him Chan. He had a round stomach when he was a baby and his neighbors called him with the pet name ‘Tiyan-Tiyan’ but it’s hard to process so he’s mother just called him Chan.

“That’s a very elaborative name for a stomach.” Mark laughs. 

“My father was supposed to name me Bartolome but my mom told him it sounds like a dead person’s name.”

“It is. It really is.”

They talk like old friends that reminisce their stories from before but it's really just Chan telling Mark his adventures from different parts of Ilocos. He tells him stories about how his mother would go fishing with him or how his father would invite him to play  _ talong baka  _ with his father’s old friends. He also mentioned about his father being mute but he added that he may be faking it to which Mark disagreed.

“You can never fake an illness, Chan.” Mark says in disbelief.

“But my father can.” Chan laughs it off. It doesn’t bother him anymore, he’s used to his father faking his illness, he could hear him every night talking to his late mother’s baro’t saya. “Why don’t we go out?” 

Chan’s words have dual meaning, he wants to enjoy his time with Mark, he always wishes that. He stares at Mark waiting for him to say anything, a slight feeling of defeat growing inside him. Mark can say no and act like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world but Mark gave him a smile with a baffled expression in his eyes.

“To where?” Mark asks.

“Anywhere.” Chan shrugs while handing his hand for Mark to hold.

“You do know that when you hold someone’s hands, you want them to marry you, right?”” Mark says but takes Chan’s hand. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Chan says and gives him a grin. He pulls Mark’s hands and trudges their way outside the huge manor.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hi you reached the ending! thanks for reading!
> 
> if you liked the story, please do leave a kudos and a comment. i really appreciate it!
> 
> lovelots owo
> 
> if you want to give me a prompt, i'll be glad to make one! just hmu in my twt acc @injunecessity


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